redemption
by synchronysymphony
Summary: jean valjean saves everybody


Valjean was thoroughly confounded.

Despite the pulling of his inner demons, despite the whispered voices of common sense nudging him to the contrary, he had risen up out of the depths of despair, took himself to the barricades where the poor doomed university students were holding their demonstrations, donned a disguise, and even gone so far as to volunteer for the cause. He had _shot_ a man, for heaven's sake.

And he had done this, not for any grand belief in a handful of schoolboys, but for the happiness of his daughter. Cosette had fallen in love with one of the rebels (not for any reason that he could see, since this Marius Pontmercy appeared to be a rather wishy-washy fellow, and a terrible letter-writer besides), and he was going to do his damndest to make sure that he was saved.

Only, there was a problem. In his fervor, he had completely forgotten what Marius looked like.

Now, unobtrusively sitting on a box at the back part of the barricade, Valjean surveyed the young people while they passed around innumerable bottles of alcohol and sang a complicated sort of drinking song to each other. It was really quite a gloomy one, Valjean thought. Back in his day, children weren't nearly so morbid.

But morbid or not, one of them was the love of Cosette's life, so no matter what, he had to figure out which one, and save them from a premature death. But how to pick them out, though? That was the question.

It couldn't be the angelic-looking leader, Valjean thought. He seemed too occupied with revolution to do much wooing, and besides, judging from the sidelong glances he'd been shooting at that ugly, loudmouthed drunkard all night, he was already spoken for, and not just by the cause.

Maybe it was the bespectacled one. Heavens, Valjean hoped it was. He seemed like the most sensible out of all of them, and apparently, he was studying medicine, so he would likely provide a decent, comfortable future. Besides, he seemed polite and kind, which was more than could be said for some of the others (Valjean's soul still rankled at some of the taunts thrown his way by the loud, bold one and his curly-haired lawyer brother-in-arms), and he seemed to be good with weapons, too. Yes, it would really be wonderful if he was Cosette's Marius.

Or, could it be the fan painter, apparently the sole workingman among the horde of students? Now that Valjean thought about it, he seemed the most likely. He was sensible, like the medical student, but more gritty, more down-to-earth. Sure, he kept on talking about Poland, which Valjean didn't really understand, but he was charming, good-natured, even handsome in a rugged sort of way. Valjean had to admit he had no real idea what Cosette's type would be, but this young man seemed like he could be anybody's.

Or maybe, Marius wasn't a boy at all. Could "he" really be the young woman who'd been hanging around the barricades all night? She seemed quite valiant. Shortly after Valjean had arrived (having run through the streets, hurrying to save Cosette's foolish young swain), he had seen her save one of the boys from being killed. She had almost been shot herself, but Valjean had shoved her out of the way just in time. So she was brave, and she seemed bright and clever, and it was possible that Cosette was in love with her. There was no way to know.

Valjean was drawn out of his reflections by a delicate hand on his shoulder, and what seemed to be a halo of golden light obscuring his vision. The leader (Enjolras, his mind supplied) had come over to talk to him.

"Sir, can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, my child," said Valjean, wondering if he could persuade him to point out who Marius was. It seemed likely that he would know. Leaders should be able to identify their subordinates, after all.

Enjolras sat down beside him, barely taking up any room on the box. He really needed to eat more. "So, I couldn't help but be curious. What really happened between you and that spy we captured?"

Valjean started. "What do you mean?"

"Well," said Enjolras. "I don't think you really shot him, right?"

"Of course I did," Valjean blustered, but he was too surprised to sound convincing, and Enjolras smirked in triumph.

"I knew it. So, you let him go?"

This was risky ground. Valjean knew that despite Enjolras's sweet and adorable appearance, he could be as terrifying as a young god. If he suspected that Valjean had let Javert go in order to betray them to the National Guard, there was no telling what he would do. So, Valjean sighed, deciding to tell him the truth.

"I knew him," he said. "Or rather, I know him. He's been chasing me for half my life. It seems I will never be free of him, even here."

Now Enjolras looked really interested. "Why is he chasing you?"

"He wants to send me back to jail."

Valjean waited for a grand reaction, but there was none. Enjolras just frowned and nibbled a plump, cherry-colored lip.

"I knew the so-called justice system in France was overly stringent, but I didn't know it was that bad. We will have to do something about that."

 _What can you possibly do_ , thought Valjean, but said instead, "I don't think you have to worry about anything from Javert. He was so distressed when I let him go that he will do nothing more tonight. I promise."

"Really?"

"Yes. Remember, I know this man well. There is no chance of him giving away our secrets."

It was only when Enjolras smiled, bright and glowing like the sun, that Valjean realized he had said _our_ instead of _your_ , had put himself on the rebels' side. So that's how it was, was it? Maybe he was growing sentimental in his old age.

Speaking of,

"Enjolras, tell me something."

"Of course."

"Which one of you is Marius?"

Enjolras started to reply, but before he could get two words out, there was a commotion from the front of the barricade, and someone calling Enjolras's name.

"Help! We need you!"

Enjolras darted to his feet, patting Valjean briefly on the shoulder. "I'll tell you later. I have to go." With this, he was gone, flashing away in a flutter of golden curls and red coat tails, determined to fix whatever new crisis was upon him.

Well, then. That had hardly been helpful. Valjean, now alone, sat back and continued to survey the barricade.

He only sat there for a minute more. The crisis that Enjolras had been called to avert had not abated, and soon, out of pure curiosity, he found himself going up to join the crowd. It wasn't because he wanted to help, he thought, just because he wanted to find Marius, and this was a good way to do it. Marius would be where the others were, surely.

But immediately, he was pulled in anyway, as the excitable curly-haired one was grabbing his arm and shouting. "Sir, do something! Do something! It's Gavroche!"

Which one was Gavroche? Valjean followed the line of sight, and summarily let out a horrified gasp. Gavroche was a _child_ , the one whom he'd assumed was someone's little brother, and whom he'd thought had gone home. But no, there he was, merrily bouncing around in front of the barricade, picking up spare bullets. Everyone was watching him in anguish, apparently trying to decide whether going out to fetch him would make the Guard fire.

"Gavroche, come back," the young woman was pleading in an undertone, beckoning wildly at him from the shadow of a mattress. She seemed one step away from going out there to collect him herself.

This, more than anything, pushed Valjean over the edge. He couldn't let any potential Mariuses be hurt, and he _definitely_ didn't want the death of a child on his conscience. In one quick motion, he had shucked off his identifying National Guard jacket and was scaling the barricades.

There was a scuffle behind him, and "Sir, let me go instead," in Enjolras's sweet, high voice. It sounded worryingly close. Was that ridiculous boy trying to climb up and take his place? Valjean knew he wasn't Marius, but he wanted him alive anyway.

"Get back down there," he shouted. "Get to safety, Enjolras. You need to stay alive and lead us, remember?"

Without waiting for a reply, he redoubled his efforts, and finally, threw himself over the top of the barricade, landing solidly on the shell-cluttered ground. Too surprised to fire for a second, the Guard stared him straight in the eyes as he advanced towards Gavroche and scooped him off his feet.

"Come here, you young rapscallion. No more danger for you."

"But I'm collecting bullets," protested Gavroche, as if it were a perfectly reasonable thing for him to be doing. Valjean shook his head, unimpressed.

"I know you are. Now, come with me."

Done with negotiation, Valjean threw him over his shoulder like the sacks of leaves he'd once shouldered back at his sister's home. Then, ignoring the child's indignant shouts, he began to scale the barricade once again.

The National Guard immediately opened fire on him, but they must have been poor shots, because they only managed to graze him, and before they could do any harm, either to him or to Gavroche, he had climbed over the top of the barricade and descended back to the ground.

The others were on him in a second. While the young woman grabbed Gavroche and began scolding him to the high heavens, the curly-haired boy and the tiny hypochondriac screamed in harmony at everyone who would listen, and the bespectacled medical student started to check Valjean for injuries, while Enjolras seized him by the arm and tried to shake him remonstratively (unsuccessfully, because despite all his intellectual prowess, he seemed to be as weak as a kitten).

"What in the holy name of the Virgin Mary were you thinking, you absolute fool? Do you know how dangerous that was? May the heavens strike me down before I permit such stupidity again!"

Valjean wanted to ask him how he planned to stop "such stupidity" from occurring, but he figured this would be beside the point. Instead, he just shrugged.

"I saved the boy, did I not?"

Enjolras finally laid off shaking him, looking a little appeased. "That you did. And I thank you for that."

"It was nothing."

"But still!"

Things settled down for awhile after that. Some of the boys sat down and resumed drinking, while others lay down to sleep on the ground, and still others took it upon themselves to entertain Valjean, whom they now seemed to regard as incalculably precious to their number. They put several lanterns together on the ground and gathered around them, like troops at a fire, swapping stories and trying to raise each others' spirits.

In light of inspiration, Enjolras very enthusiastically told a story about how Marius had saved the barricade by threatening to blow it up with a keg of gunpowder, apparently thinking this was a good story to improve everyone's morale. It did seem to help, but it still wasn't enough to identify Marius (especially because Enjolras was very unhelpful at storytelling and included exactly zero personal details). However, it did cause Valjean to regard the Marius in a more favorable light. They were a brave one, whoever they were.

This marker of character didn't help to narrow the selection, either. All of these young people were brave, good souls, and Valjean could see any of them performing such a feat. They were all so decent, so upright. It seemed a pity that all but one of them should die.

Slowly, he began to formulate a plan. So, he wasn't sure which one Marius was. So what? He would save them all. This way, Cosette would have her pick of suitors, and just maybe, once she was presented with all the options, she would choose a sensible one. What's more, this way he could save them all, protecting each of them as he had done with Gavroche. All of them could see another day, and hopefully have time to think about their actions and make better choices in the future. It was an excellent plan.

Now, he just had to figure out a way to make it happen. None of these children seemed very amenable to leaving the barricades in the middle of battle, even on pain of death. It was highly unlikely that he could convince them to just pick up and go. He had seen them fighting, and they were dreadfully reckless. No, there would have to be some other way.

While he was considering this, a shot rang out, and someone screamed. He looked up, only to see a breach in the barricade, and soldiers pouring in with weapons blazing. It was like something out of an opera; he barely felt present in the moment until Enjolras grabbed him by the arm and shouted something about gunpowder. Then, he awoke with a vengeance. All of a sudden, this had become a matter of life or death.

"Where's my pistol?" called Gavroche. "Hey, pretty boy! Did you take my pistol?"

"You're too young for a pistol," said Enjolras. Gavroche stuck out his tongue.

"What about you, then?"

"You little brat," Enjolras retorted, rather inelegantly.

Valjean left them to fight it out. He picked up the nearest weapon (an ancient carbine that had definitely seen better days) and began to load it. He had work to do.

Everything was frenzy for awhile. Valjean tried to be everywhere at once, protecting these reckless children from being hurt, but it was an impossible task, because none of them seemed to know how to defend themselves. He managed to save the waifish anti-fashion-plate from being captured, only to turn around and see the riotous giant about to be skewered by the National Guard. Then, after saving him, he turned once more and saw Enjolras a second away from being bludgeoned by three separate soldiers. It was the hardest task he'd ever been set; nothing in his life could possibly compare.

And then, it struck him. He would use this chaos as a cover and rescue the children against their will. Undoubtedly, they would be upset now, but maybe they would be relieved later not to have thrown their lives away. And anyway, it would be worth it.

Accordingly, he began to watch for an opportunity. He didn't want to spirit someone away, only to leave the others open to danger. Finally, though, he saw a chance. The little hypochondriac, having lost his cane, went down in a tumble, hitting his head on a paving stone, and losing consciousness immediately. Valjean picked him up, and seeing no other recourse, popped him inside the door to the sewer, where there was fortunately a platform to keep workmen dry. No one would look there.

So, that was one saved. Valjean strode back into the fight with a renewed sense of purpose.

It was easier after that. Either because the fight was growing more serious, or because Valjean was set on his path now, he made quick work of picking up each young idiot as soon as they fell and depositing them in the sewers, and soon, there was no one left but Enjolras, who was attempting to defend the cafe by himself, though Valjean wasn't sure why, because there was no one in there.

He was fighting bravely, but soon the guards surrounded him, streaming past him into the building. Evidently, this was not all right with him, because he screamed defiantly and chased them inside. Now, there was no choice. Valjean shook his head– really, these young people would be the death of him– and tagged close behind.

He followed Enjolras up the steps to the second floor, as of yet unseen, and paused in a little alcove to watch and see what went on. Maybe he would smite them all with the sheer force of his radiant beauty, and there would be no need of a rescue. In that case, Valjean would emerge and convince him to come and join his friends in safety.

This didn't seem to be the case, unfortunately. The guards trained their weapons on him, ready to fire.

"Are you the last one?" asked the captain.

Enjolras nodded, looking the tiniest bit panicked, which Valjean couldn't explain, since he'd been fearless all night. "There's no one else. Just me."

"And what about him?"

For a second, Valjean thought he'd been discovered. He was about to make peace with heaven for his soul, but at another glance, he realized that the captain was pointing at another figure, a loutish, greasy-haired man lying asleep at a small table in the corner. The captain poked him with the butt of his rifle.

"Come on, get up."

The man stirred, stretched lazily, and lifted his head. Now, Valjean could see that he was the annoying drunkard who'd been so obstreperous earlier. Well, so he was here after all. Valjean had thought he'd run off.

Meanwhile, Enjolras had grown pale as marble. He looked like he was about to have a fit.

"Leave him alone," he demanded, though in a higher, shriller voice than usual. The captain narrowed his eyes.

"Why should I?"

"Because… I'm the one you want. Don't hurt him. Please."

The inebriate stood up. It was impossible to describe what he looked like in that moment, thought Valjean, so transfixed as he was by the boy before him. He started forward, staggering less than Valjean would have thought, given that he'd woken from a drunken stupor only a few seconds ago.

"Enjolras–"

"Grantaire, get out of here. I'll hold them off."

"No, I won't leave you. I'm with the cause, you know." Ignoring Enjolras's continued protests, he crossed the floor and went right up to stand against the guards. He towered over his little angel by at least a foot, but even so, he appeared deferential, even sweet. "Do you permit it?" he asked.

Enjolras looked up at him. He, too, seemed transfixed. Valjean had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life, and he _especially_ had never seen a smile like the bright, radiant one on Enjolras's lovely face. It was almost blinding. When he offered his hand, and Grantaire took it and clasped it tight, Valjean thought he might cry.

There was no doubt about it. He needed to rescue these two.

He was still wearing his National Guard uniform, so when he strode out into the room, the soldiers stopped in their places to consider this new development.

"Is there news?" asked the captain.

"Yes." Valjean gestured at Enjolras and Grantaire, standing statue-still at the end of the room. "I'm supposed to take the leader in. That's him, right?"

"That's him."

"Good. Then, if you'll allow me–"

"I won't," interrupted Enjolras. "You're not taking me anywhere. I'd rather die."

Valjean wasn't sure if he knew that this was a rescue, but even if he did, he most likely didn't care. He was too invested in his revolution, and death probably seemed better than defeat. Despite all his intelligence and passion, he was still just a child, stubborn, and idealistic to the point of carelessness. It would be admirable, but his ethos was about to cost him his life.

Well, never mind that. Valjean was going to save him anyway.

He pushed his way through the soldiers until he was standing directly in front of Enjolras and Grantaire. "Come with me," he said.

Enjolras growled like a back-pet cat, and there was really nothing Valjean could think to do, so he raised his rifle and smashed him on the head. Grantaire caught him as he fell, cradling him in the crook of one meaty arm.

"Enjolras? Angel? Are you…" Realizing that Enjolras was gone from the waking world, he snarled at Valjean, his already-ugly face becoming demonic. " _You_. You hurt him."

Valjean wasn't sure how to deal with this. He thought he could probably take Grantaire in a fight if he had to, but he didn't really want to try, especially with all the National Guard at the ready. After all, he was trying to _save_ the fellow, not irreparably injure him. So he held out a hand, placating.

"Yes, but it was for his own good. Now, if you would please come with me…"

"Never. I won't let you have him. I know what you people do to your prisoners, and I tell you, I won't let you, not to him."

Valjean rushed forward and grabbed Grantaire's free wrist. Hopefully, to the members of the National Guard it would look like a legitimate capture, not a ploy to get in close.

"I'm trying to save him," he hissed. "I'm not with the guard. I'm with Marius."

This was obviously a shock, but Grantaire was surprisingly quick on the uptake, and a good actor, to boot. He gave the tiniest, most imperceptible nod, and began to struggle only superficially, in order to put on a show of anger for the watching soldiers.

"You're a monster," he proclaimed as Valjean led him out of the room. "You may have us now, but I promise you, you can't keep us down. We're going to rise again!"

Valjean was afraid the soldiers were going to stop them, but somehow, miraculously, they didn't. They just stood by and watched until Valjean and Grantaire were out of sight outside the cafe. It must have been grace, or a blessing, or heaven looking out for its own, keeping an angel from death.

Valjean said a prayer of thanks as he made his way to the sewer grate. He didn't know he was speaking aloud until Grantaire joined in at the end with a hearty _amen_. "Praise be to the powers in every world but this one," he added for good measure. Valjean didn't know what he thought of that, but this was not the time for a theological discussion, so he merely opened the sewer grate and beckoned Grantaire inside.

"Come along," he said.

Grantaire did, but he let out a string of curses upon seeing his friends. "What in the name of hell itself is this?" he demanded.

"They're all right," Valjean hastened to assure him. "Don't worry, they fell in combat, and they have lost consciousness, but they will recover within a few hours, especially if we can get them to safety."

Grantaire seemed to accept this. "Where's safety?"

"My house."

Valjean had been hesitant at first, but now that he'd fought with these children, and saved them, he knew he could do nothing else but take them in. He knew Marius's address, of course, and he would take them there once he figured out who they were, but for now, everyone could come back with him and recover. Cosette would be delighted to meet them all. Poor child; she'd been on her own for far too long. These new friends would do her good.

"Where's your house?" asked Grantaire. He had crouched down next to his friends to check them for injuries, although he hadn't let go of Enjolras to do so.

Valjean sighed. "I'm sorry, my child. It's a little more than two miles away. We won't have an easy time getting there."

"How are we going to take them, then? We can't carry them all."

"No, and I would rather travel through the sewers here for awhile, just to avoid detection. I wonder…"

Valjean ducked outside the sewer grate again. He'd seen a wrecked cart by the barricade earlier. With any luck, it was still there. He could probably patch it up well enough to withstand a brief trip.

Sure enough, it was lying where it had fallen, a broken gift from heaven, and there seemed to be no one in sight, so he picked it up and carried it back, set nicely over his shoulder. It reminded him of the old days, back in Toulon.

"Here we are," he said, once he'd gotten it inside. "We'll put them on here and wheel them through in this way."

Grantaire looked skeptical, but he agreed. He attempted to help fix the cart, and surprisingly, was rather useful, though he was hampered by his inability to go two minutes without checking on Enjolras, and his insistence on leaving the boy's head in his lap so as to "keep him from feeling the ground." Finally, though, the cart was as fixed as it could be.

Fortunately, two of the boys had woken up during the proceedings, so by the time the cart was ready to go, they had recovered the strength to walk. Valjean explained the situation, which they fortunately seemed to accept. They helped set up the cart and put their friends in (minus Enjolras, whom Grantaire had dramatically declared he'd carry through hell itself), and when they were done, they thanked Valjean for his foresight.

"I don't know how you did it, really."

Valjean wasn't looking for accolades. He muttered something gruff and self-deprecating, looking down so they couldn't see the expression on his face.

The journey through the sewers wasn't easy. The cart broke down several times, seemingly in the worst places, even though two more of the boys woke up and got out to help lighten the load. By the time they had gotten to the sewer exit, they were all soaked to the bone and completely miserable.

So, when Thenardier appeared out of the darkness like some kind of troublesome poltergeist, snickering and rubbing his hands together and carrying a bag full of stolen wealth, Valjean thought he was perfectly within his rights to stand up to his full height, stare him down without a word, and wordlessly shoo him on his way. He had no time to deal with this tonight.

But Thenardier wouldn't go. He pawed over the bodies in the cart, until Grantaire raised a fist at him and he backed off with a snivel.

"A man has to eat, you know."

"You can eat–"

"Bread, like anyone else," broke in Valjean hastily. "Go away, Thenardier. You won't find what you're looking for here."

"And you won't find what you're looking for, either," wheezed Thenardier. "That gate's locked. Only I have the key."

Silently, Valjean waded to the gate. Water damage had made it rusty and weak. Although the structure still looked sturdy, to Valjean's practiced eyes, it was nothing more than a small obstacle. He grasped the crumbling metal and pulled. For a second, it didn't budge, but then, all of a piece, the decrepit filigree gave way, leaving Valjean with a handful of rust flakes and an open road to freedom. Thenardier gaped.

"What are you?"

"A better man than you, praise God." Valjean turned to his flock of weary revolutionaries, all of whom were staring at him with dropped jaws. "Come, my children. Let's go home."

No sooner had they exited the sewer, though, than there was a dry chuckle, and a most unwelcome voice, much too familiar by half.

"So, Valjean. What a pleasure."

Valjean groaned internally. What a terrible, and yet completely unsurprising, twist of fate. "Hello, Javert."

"So you've extended your crimes? Now you've stooped to trafficking the dead?"

"They're not dead," said Grantaire. "This man saved us all."

"Really. And what does he want in return?"

"I want nothing," said Valjean, unwilling to let the children argue for him. "Javert, arrest me if you will. But first, let me take these poor young ones to safety. Some of them are injured, and they all need rest. You wouldn't deny them a chance at life, would you?"

Javert harrumphed. "They're criminals. They were trying to overthrow the government."

"And at one point, you were purporting to help them."

"After which they tied me up and left me to die. At your hands, may I add."

"Javert, please." Valjean came forward, slowly, slowly, hands outstretched in peace. "I know you don't trust me. But you do trust in what's right. And I tell you, what's right is mercy, and kindness, and goodness. Help me now. Let me take these children home. After that, lock me away, kill me for all I care. But do this one thing, not for me, not for yourself, but for the world. For justice. Help these children. Help them live and build tomorrow."

Javert's face twisted. Valjean wasn't sure what he was thinking, or what he was going to do. But after a long time, he gave a clipped, curt nod.

"Fine. But I will accompany you."

Valjean bowed. "As you wish."

They managed to find a carriage somehow, and after heavily bribing the driver to keep quiet about everything he saw (Javert turned the other way), they gave directions and set off towards Valjean's house. It didn't take long to get there, although Valjean worried with every bump on the road that someone's injuries would open and they would bleed to death right then and there.

The journey was uneventful, however, and soon, everyone was inside, safe at last. Javert said he would wait in the carriage, but Enjolras, who had woken up on the way over, told him to come in and let the carriage-driver go home, and because obeying Enjolras seemed to be the natural response of everyone who heard him, Javert did.

Cosette met them all at the door. She was dressed as neatly as always, but her face was pale with worry, and when she saw Valjean, she threw himself at him with a cry.

"I was so worried, Papa! Do you know what I've been hearing all night? Nothing but gunfire! Did you think–" Now she stopped, seeing the parade behind Valjean for the first time. "Papa, what's all this?"

"Let me explain," Valjean told her. "But first, will you help me? Everyone here is in dire need of care."

Cosette agreed readily, and helped bring everyone into the front room. But as soon as she had done so, laying everyone on any available piece of furniture (and failing that, the floor), she gasped.

"Marius!"

Finally, Valjean was going to learn which one was Marius. He watched as Cosette rushed towards one of the still-unconscious boys, the one with black clothes and large nostrils. Privately, Valjean had thought this one looked rather silly, but Cosette seemed rapturous as she embraced him.

"Oh, Marius! You look terrible, my love. Did you go to the barricades? And did you fall off of them? Oh, my poor Marius!" She looked up now, understanding lighting her eyes. "Papa, you saved him, didn't you? You went to the barricades, and you saved him, and all the others, too."

Valjean saw no point in hiding it. He inclined his head. "I did, my dear."

Cosette leapt up and threw her arms around his waist. She seemed near tears, but she laughed in pure joy as she sang out her jubilant thank-yous. She was so dear. It made all the struggle, all the hardship completely worth it.

"You are truly a saint," she cried. "Papa, I do not know what this world would do if you were not in it. How can any of us ever thank you?"

"I require no thanks," Valjean told her, and it was true. But he still felt his heart grow warm at the praise.

Feeling that this was not appropriate– after all, he had merely done his duty– he coughed brusquely, and gestured to Enjolras.

"Why don't you make some introductions, my child?"

Enjolras stood up, though he was favoring his left leg in an alarming way, and smiled brilliantly at Cosette. He really was a charming boy. "My name is Enjolras," he said. "I owe your father everything. None of us would be alive if not for his heroism."

Cosette offered her hand, but instead of kissing it, he shook it heartily, with the most ingenuous smile on his face. "It's lovely to meet you," he said.

"Likewise."

Cosette really did seem happy to make his acquaintance. Valjean thought she and Enjolras would get along well. They both had a certain sweetness and brightness in their manner, and though Enjolras was serious where Cosette was playful, they had the same fire in their eyes. Inwardly, he congratulated himself on bringing them together.

Enjolras, pleased at his success, went on to introduce his friends (who had all woken up by this point). There were so many of them; Valjean could barely keep them all straight. Marius, he knew now, but the others seemed like a faceless, albeit very energetic, jumble.

Cosette seemed to have no trouble, however. She greeted them all cheerfully, and soon, she was chattering away with them as if she'd known them all her life. It made Valjean's heart clench. Maybe, he had done wrong in keeping her away from other people. She deserved friends, deserved happiness, and even though she was enjoying herself now, it was several years overdue. Well, that was another thing to do penance for. He sighed heavily, berating himself. He was such a sad excuse for a father! Poor Cosette. She really deserved better than him.

It was this thought, more than anything, which made his decision for him. So he was undeserving of Cosette's love? Very well. He would tell her everything, and she would cut ties with him forever, all for the betterment of her future, and of his own soul. He couldn't be selfish, not now, not when it mattered so much. It was time to tell everyone the truth.

"Listen, my children," he said. Cosette and some of the boys (including Enjolras) jumped to attention, all alert.

"What is it?"

"I have something to tell you."

Eagerly, almost like children in a nursery-school, Cosette, the other young woman (Eponine, Valjean thought her name was), and all the boys gathered around his feet, looking up at him from the floor. His courage almost failed him when he saw all their bright, innocent faces, but paradoxically, it was this that allowed him to continue.

"I'm going to tell you my story," he said. Cosette perked up.

"Really?"

"Yes, my dear. You deserve to know."

She and the others fell silent, listening in rapt attention. Valjean took a deep breath. It was time.

He began right from the very start, telling them how he'd broken a window and stolen a loaf of bread to keep his sister and her family from starving, how he'd been caught, how he'd gone to prison and struggled there… His tale was a bleak one, he realized, watching the children's faces as he went on. They seemed scandalized to hear what he'd been through.

Or, maybe they were scandalized to hear about his misdeeds. It was true, he had done some truly reprehensible things through the course of his life. It could be that they were judging him harshly for them all.

It soon became clear, however, that this was not the case. When he'd finished his story, there wasn't even a moment's pause before everyone was talking at once, trying to tell him how sorry they were that he had suffered so.

"It's not right," exclaimed Enjolras. His clear, high voice easily carried above the rest. "We have to do something. Such injustice cannot continue!"

As before, Valjean had no idea what he planned to do, or how he would carry it out, but the outrage was touching. He smiled at the fervid young warrior and put a hand on his head in blessing.

"I appreciate your passion. It may well be that you will change things one day."

Enjolras fairly glowed at this, and fell silent, presumably to think about how he might best improve society. Cosette then took her turn to speak.

"Papa, do you really believe that you are a bad person?"

"I do," Valjean told her honestly, but she frowned in disagreement.

"That's patently untrue. Think of all the good you've done!"

"It does not nullify my sins."

Cosette looked as if she wanted to say something about this, and no doubt she would have, but then, surprisingly, Eponine spoke.

"Sir, I understand you well. I sinned, too. There's some things in my past that I'll never find peace for." Here, she gave Cosette a very significant look. Cosette frowned again.

"Are you talking about the old days, back when we were children together?"

"Yes. I did you wrong, Cosette, and there's no forgiveness for that, not for me. I will forever live my life trying to be better than what I was, but I don't think I'll ever get there."

"That's a noble goal," said Cosette. "And I think it shows that you _are_ better, and that you will continue to grow."

"That's a pretty thought. But no matter what I do, it won't make up for what my sister and I put you through. You know that."

Cosette came closer. She didn't touch Eponine, but her posture was welcoming, and she wasn't frowning any longer.

"It may not," she said. "But that doesn't matter. You are forgiven. What you did wasn't right, and for a long time, I was angry at you. But I know it's in the past now. I see no good in holding on to anger when you've changed and are continuing to grow kinder and better each day, and when I, too, am recovering from the suffering of my old life and learning to heal. I forgave you a long time ago. And now, I have done so all over again. It's all right, Eponine. Don't hate yourself on my account any longer."

Eponine began to cry. "I've been waiting so long to hear that," she sobbed. Some of the boys shifted awkwardly, obviously not sure what to do, but fortunately, Cosette was ready even for this. She took Eponine's hand in hers and squeezed it tight.

"It's all right," she said again. Eponine fell into her arms, weeping aloud. It was a long time before she could let go. Cosette didn't seem to mind, though, and calmly took her over to sit on the couch and lean on her while she recovered herself.

Meanwhile, Valjean was thinking deeply. He had just witnessed an example of forgiveness, goodness in action, and it had given him hope. If Cosette could forgive Eponine, could the people he'd wronged forgive him? It seemed too much to hope for. He didn't think he deserved grace such as the kind that Cosette had extended.

But then, maybe he was wrong. It could be that someday he could atone for his sins after all. It seemed like too much to hope for, but against all odds, there was mercy in the world, and it was a great and powerful thing. Perhaps even he, vile wretch though he was, could be saved.

Enjolras tapped him on the knee, cutting into his theological musings. He looked more than ever like a schoolboy.

"Sir, may I ask you a question?"

Valjean nodded. "Ask away."

"Well, you see, I don't understand. I know you wronged Cosette's mother, and your remorse for that is understandable, but why do you regret everything else? Your other sins seem rather commonplace."

Valjean almost laughed. The boy was almost brash in his innocence, optimistic in his very soul. It was hard to believe that just last night, he had killed a man. Speaking of which, that incident, still fresh in his memory, might be informing his worldview a little. Since he had done something so reprehensible (in his mind, at least), he was probably less disposed to think of other sins as equal to his own.

"My poor child," said Valjean, deciding to address this. "I know you think that what you've done is worse than anything in this world. But it is not. You, too, can be forgiven."

Enjolras looked up in distress, apparently forgetting his question, and proving that Valjean had been right in his surmisings. "But how? I thought I could pay for my wrongdoing through death, but I lived, and now I must face retribution. Only, I don't know how!"

"I will help you," Valjean told him. "It will be difficult, but you are strong, and I know you can heal from this. Don't hate yourself, my dear boy. You are not as bad as you think."

Big tears welled up in Enjolras's pretty blue eyes. He sniffled delicately, and then, without warning, began crying aloud, much, much more noisily than Eponine had. His friends all looked at him in shock, some frozen in place, and others nudging each other, as if trying to figure out what to do.

Valjean didn't know what to do either, so he was relieved when Grantaire finally took charge of the situation and picked Enjolras up to sit on his lap. He clucked and cooed and pressed sweet little kisses onto his face, until eventually his sobs reached normal levels, and the others could relax once again.

Once Grantaire had taken Enjolras outside to cuddle and reassure him, the bespectacled medical student (Combeferre, Valjean thought his name was) took his place in the center of the carpet. As before, Valjean was struck with how serious and steady he looked. What a fine young man he was.

"What is it, my child?" he asked.

Combeferre took off his glasses and began to polish them on his shirtsleeve, maybe to have something to do. "I mean no disrespect," he said. "But, sir. I think Enjolras is right."

Valjean raised an eyebrow. "Is he. What do you mean?"

"I think…" Combeferre, finished with polishing his glasses, now began to smooth down his hair. He didn't really need to do this, but he tried quite assiduously anyway. "You know, Enjolras is a very smart boy, and he does have some good ideas… no. I must be frank. Sir, you don't seem to have done anything wrong. To my mind, your self-flagellation is misplaced."

Goodness, another one? Valjean adopted his most staid and trustworthy manner. "I appreciate your concern. But I think you are giving me too much credit. I am indeed a sinner, and no amount of denial can take that away."

"I am not saying that you are not a sinner, merely that you need not demean yourself overmuch for it."

"Do you think I am demeaning myself overmuch? To me, it seems not only justified, but fitting as well."

"I'm afraid I can't agree with that," said Combeferre. He seemed more comfortable now, more willing to speak directly. Valjean appreciated this, but he couldn't help but think that the young man was fundamentally wrong.

"How can you not agree? Look at me. I have ruined lives."

"And saved lives, too."

Valjean had to admit that this part was true. He didn't really know where to go from there, so he decided to change tactics.

"Well. Think about this, then. I must admit something terrible. I dislike Marius, not because he is anything less than admirable, but because I fear that he will steal Cosette away from me."

"That's not an unreasonable fear," piped up the curly-haired boy, who had been listening in. Combeferre nudged him.

"Courfeyrac, that might have been private."

"I know, but it's important." Courfeyrac bounced over to Valjean, as irrepressible as he'd been the night before, though a little slower in his movements. "Listen, sir! You're not wrong about Marius. He was talking to me while you were talking to Enjolras. He said he wants to remove you from Cosette's life for good!"

Valjean was surprised to find that this news didn't grieve him as badly as he'd thought it would. He had been dreading this all along, so knowing it was merely the next step, and was not more than he could take. He sighed softly and lowered his head.

"Very well. Thank you for telling me, child. I will remove myself as soon as I have gotten my affairs in order."

"You will– what?" With a high-pitched cry and a gasp of outrage, Courfeyrac pounced. He climbed onto the edge of Valjean's chair and clung to him, fingers digging into his arms. "Sir, how could you be so foolish? Would you really leave your daughter, just to satisfy the whims of _Marius Pontmercy_? I beg you, think again!"

"It's true," agreed Combeferre. "I don't doubt that Cosette loves him, and that's wonderful. But she loves you, too. It would be a terrible thing to ask her to choose between you."

"But I am not worthy to be in her life," Valjean explained, unsure as to why this was even a question. He placed a gentle hand on Combeferre's shoulder. "Thank you for your kindness, my child. But Courfeyrac is right."

Courfeyrac squawked in outrage, apparently upset at being misquoted. "Hey, no! You have the wrong idea about me, here!" He grabbed at Valjean, gripping his shirtsleeve firmly in both hands. "Listen, I just told you. Marius is an idiot! You can't listen to him. He's not bad, he just doesn't know anything. You have to stay in Cosette's life– for her sake as well as yours!"

"It's true."

Valjean gasped aloud, uncharacteristically caught off guard. He hadn't thought Cosette had heard any of this. But here she was, smiling as sweetly as ever.

"Papa, don't be silly," she said. "It is exactly as Combeferre said. I love Marius, but I love you as well. You must stay with me! What would I ever do if you were to leave?"

Valjean couldn't help but listen, now, hearing it from Cosette herself. But still, the doubt remained.

"I am not worthy," he said.

"Now, Papa." Cosette nudged Courfeyrac aside so she could sit down beside Valjean and take his hand. "May I remind you," she said. "We are not to judge who is worthy and who is not. Only God can do that. Our duty is to be the best we can, and to bring goodness to the world with kindness and love. Is that not so?"

It was so. Valjean had said the same often enough. But he didn't see how this contradicted his point. "Then, Cosette, shouldn't I leave you to be happy with the one you love?"

"If you left, how would I be happy?" Cosette patted him on the cheek. "Papa, you are my only family, and I love you dearly. Yes, I know I will be happy with Marius, and with all these new friends, but my life wouldn't be complete without you, too. Let's talk to Marius. I'm sure it's a misunderstanding. He would never want you out of our lives if he knew the truth."

"I'll get him," interposed Courfeyrac, smiling. He got up and left the room. Meanwhile, Combeferre had turned to talk to Cosette.

"That was a wonderful persuasive speech," he said.

"Because I put my whole heart into it," Cosette explained. Her tone was light, but her words were serious, and Combeferre seemed to recognize this. He laughed.

"You remind me of Enjolras."

"Oh my, what a compliment!"

"Indeed. I don't know if I could make any higher commendation."

Valjean smiled, watching them. Maybe there was hope yet. Combeferre and Cosette obviously got along well, and they were relaxed and happy together, so it wasn't too far-fetched to think that they might fall in love. And then, instead of wide-nostriled Marius, Cosette could marry a kind, responsible medical doctor-to-be. It was perfect. Valjean decided to have a nice talk with them both later.

In the meantime, though, Enjolras and Grantaire had come back. Enjolras was still red-eyed and sniffling, but he looked better, probably because Grantaire was holding his hand and standing protectively over him like a gargoyle-faced guardian angel. They both came up to Valjean without any trace of hesitation.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry, but. Sir?"

"Yes, my children?"

"Well." Enjolras withdrew his hand from Grantaire's grip so he could wring it with his other one. He looked genuinely worried. "I'm sorry if this is something you don't want to deal with. But you see, your policeman friend in the other room wants to talk to you."

"Oh."

Enjolras seemed to misinterpret Valjean's expression. He took his hand and gripped it in a confiding sort of way. "I'm sorry. I know how it is. A lot of people want to sleep with me, too. And I know it's an annoyance past compare. But be strong, sir. You will prevail!"

"What?" Valjean shook his head. "No, Enjolras. That's not– Javert doesn't– you know what, don't worry about it. I'll go talk to him right now."

Enjolras beamed. "That's wonderful. You can do this!" He squeezed Valjean's hand, patted him on the shoulder, and tugged Grantaire onto the floor to sit and talk with Combeferre and Cosette. He was so enthusiastic. No wonder he was such a good leader. Somewhat encouraged, Valjean took himself off to the other room to see what Javert wanted to say.

Javert had not even taken off his coat. He was pacing back and forth in the front room, looking horribly pained. As soon as he saw Valjean, he straightened up.

"Valjean."

"Javert."

They seemed to have arrived at an impasse. Valjean didn't want to speak first, but Javert didn't seem to either, and here they were, staring each other down and waiting for the other to give in to the pressure of social awkwardness. Valjean could have waited all day, but he decided not to. He wanted to get back to the children, after all. So, he swallowed his pride and spoke.

"Enjolras said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Enjolras–? Ah. The little rebel boy. Yes."

Valjean waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. Honestly, this was excruciating. He gritted his teeth.

"What did you want to tell me?"

"I had a question, actually."

"Yes?"

"Well. I've been thinking about this all night, but I haven't been able to come to an answer. Why exactly did you let me go on the barricades? Why didn't you kill me?"

Valjean sighed. This was not easy to explain, especially to a man like Javert, who had only ever known the hardness of the law. But he had asked, and perhaps an explanation was in order, so for the sake of decency, Valjean thought he had to try.

"I believe in grace," he said.

Sure enough, Javert scoffed at him. "Grace? What good is that? Justice is the only way to keep the world in order."

"I hear you," Valjean said mildly. "I know that many people think as you do. But, a long time ago, I was shown grace, although I didn't deserve it. That changed my life. Because of that, I was able to become a better person, and try to help those around me. I may not be successful, for I know I am still a sinner and a wretch, but at least I may now work for the betterment of the world and its citizens."

"But how can you do that when you overturn all the laws that keep the world on its course?" Javert demanded.

Valjean was going to reply, but he thought better of it and shut his mouth. Arguments, rhetoric, speeches– those would probably not work on Javert. What he needed was a real-life example. So Valjean took him by the arm.

"Come with me."

"Excuse me?"

Javert looked truly offended. Valjean paid him no heed. "Come. I want you to meet the children."

He dragged Javert back into the other room, where the young people were still assembled, talking together in low voices. They brightened up when they saw Valjean, though, and Enjolras came over to him.

"How did it go?"

"Sit down, my child," Valjean told him. He blinked in confusion, but did so, perching on Grantaire's knee like a delicate little doll.

"What's going on?"

"I want to introduce you all to someone." Valjean drew Javert forward. He looked like a weasel; his eyes were darting around the room, and his expression had never been less trustworthy.

"What is this?" he snapped. Valjean sighed. This would take a bit of tricky maneuvering.

"This is Javert," he said. "I believe most of you know him already."

Enjolras huffed in annoyance. "How could we not? He's the spy who wanted to get us all killed!"

"Yes, well."

"You would have deserved it," said Javert. "Ignorant little schoolboys, the lot of you. Are you even out of the lycées yet?"

Enjolras looked affronted. "I'm a law student!"

"Really? Because you don't look a day older than seventeen."

"That's not my fault," Enjolras told him with great dignity. Javert sneered at him.

"Oh, I dare say. But may I suggest, _boy_ , that you focus on growing some facial hair before you play at being a man?"

Enjolras looked more offended than ever. He leveled an icy glare at Javert. "Now see here, you old baggage–"

Valjean knew he had to interfere. This wasn't going exactly as he'd planned. He coughed loudly and raised a hand to cut off Enjolras's no-doubt inflammatory speech.

"Calm yourself." To Valjean's secret surprise, it worked. Enjolras still looked insulted (maybe even more so, now), but he settled down. Valjean nodded at him. "Now. I didn't bring Javert in here so that you could fight."

"He started it," mumbled Enjolras sulkily.

Valjean rather agreed with this, but he wanted to make peace. So he clucked his tongue, hoping it was a vague enough gesture to appease everyone. Thankfully, it seemed to be. Everyone, even Javert, looked at him expectantly.

"So," he said. This was treacherous terrain, and one slip could ruin him in everyone's good graces. "Listen, my friends. You have your disputes. I don't deny that. But discounting how we feel about each other– with whom are you really angry? With whom does your quarrel lie?"

"With society," said Enjolras immediately. His friends nodded, as did Cosette.

Valjean smiled. This was the answer he had been hoping for. "Excellent. And you, Javert?"

"With society, I suppose," said Javert, though he didn't seem happy to admit it. Valjean fought the urge to clap his hands like a schoolchild.

"I agree. Now. Does that not seem strange? We all have the same enemy, but we're fighting each other. Why?"

"Because he wants to kill us," said Enjolras.

There really wasn't anything Valjean could say to this. He looked at Javert. "Why do you want to kill these children?"

"Because– because–" Javert flailed for a second, looking from one young face to the next. Finally, he fixed on Eponine. "Because they're criminals! This one is part of a gang. And now she's trying to overthrow the government! How can she claim to be a victim of society when she is actively a part of its downfall?"

"Oh, so I'm the villain now," snapped Eponine. "Pardon me, m'sieur, but for those of us who lack amenities like yours, living within the confines of the law is not so easily done. I'm trying to survive, same as you. Only difference is, the world hates me for it."

"You break the law."

"The law is unjust. It must be broken if the people are to live."

Enjolras nudged her, momentarily interrupting the repartee. "That was a beautiful statement. Would you like to put it on a pamphlet?"

"Why, I quite would." Eponine smiled, looking at Enjolras as if for the first time. "You know, I never got a chance to tell you, but you're not half bad, pretty boy."

"Really?"

"Really. You're no Montparnasse, but you'll do."

"Thank you!" Enjolras looked genuinely touched. He grasped her hand with fervor. "You know, you're rather wonderful yourself!"

Valjean couldn't help but smile at this heartwarming display. He had never had friends, not really, so seeing all these young people bonding like this was doing him good. Maybe he was too old to have the same experience. But at least he could live it vicariously through them.

It would have been nice to watch them a little more, but he still had work to do. He couldn't rest until all issues were resolved. So, he spoke up again.

"Javert, you know how it is to be an outcast of society. And you know how it is to fight against wrong. You do so by upholding the law as vigorously as you can. Eponine does so by relying on her wits. And Enjolras does so by trying to fight oppressive power structures. Is any one method really better than the others?"

"Yes," said Javert. Enjolras, Eponine, and all their friends glared at him. He glared back. "Are you ignorant as well as violent? Can you not see what is right?"

"The real violence is what society has done to us all," spoke up Combeferre mildly. "Javert, I know you think that upholding the law is the only way to keep the world safe. But Eponine is right. Sometimes the law itself is unjust. What do we do then?"

"We rebel," said Enjolras immediately. Grantaire put a hand over his, looking amused.

"Wait for the inspector's answer, my dear."

The inspector didn't look as if he much wanted to give an answer. He grimaced horribly, eyes squinted down his nose.

"You need not condescend to me," he said.

"But I am not attempting to." Combeferre stood and came over to him, hand outstretched in a peaceful greeting. "Sir, I value your opinion as I do everyone's. When I asked what you thought, it was because I truly wanted to know. Do not think that it was out of malicious intent."

"How is he so _good_?" Valjean heard Grantaire mutter to Enjolras. Enjolras laughed quietly.

"He is truly a wonder."

"Well," Javert said now, unable to combat Combeferre's natural goodness with any sort of sharp retort, "I suppose I should listen to you, then. Speak your piece."

Combeferre smiled gently, though with a sort of triumphant gleam in his eyes. Getting Javert to listen was the first step, and now, things would hopefully be easier. "I, too, believe in justice," he said. "The good must be innocent, that's my motto. So it might seem counter-intuitive for me to advocate the breaking of laws, and the tearing down of societal institutions. But I believe there is a higher power than those which men have constructed."

Javert snorted. "Are you trying to proselytize me, young man?"

"No. I am not speaking of religion here (though that does not mean I discount it). No, I am speaking of the soul."

"How's that?"

"Well, you see," said Combeferre. "If you think about it, a person's soul is the most valuable thing in the world. To degrade that is therefore the worst injustice. Think of all the poor women who have turned to the streets against their will, just to survive. Or the young people– ah, Eponine, if I may?"

"Of course."

"Thank you. Think of Eponine. She could be a student, like me. But because of a lack of fortune, she has been forced to turn to a life of crime. She didn't choose this. She didn't want it. But even so, her life has been nothing but struggle and pain, and no matter what her soul tells her, she must live in this way, oppressed and spat upon by members of the higher social caste. Including you, inspector, may I add. Don't you think that's a worse injustice than, say, breaking a window and stealing some bread to keep your family alive?"

The look Combeferre gave Javert at this wasn't exactly subtle, but it didn't need to be. Javert blustered and coughed and looked uncomfortable.

"So, you advocate breaking all the rules, then, in the name of survival? You advocate anarchy?"

"There's quite a bit of ground between noncompliance with asinine and overly stringent regulations, and flat-out abolition of all governmental forces," spoke up Enjolras, annoyed. "In fact, I would urge you to think about your strict definition of what makes a law. Are you conflating even the pettiest legal caltrops with the overarching principles of our government and society?"

Javert just stared at him. His jaw had dropped the tiniest bit. "Uh. Come again?"

"Do you believe that all laws have the same weight?"

"Well. Yes."

"But that's stupid," exclaimed Courfeyrac, who had come back into the room by now. "Sir, do you not have room for extenuating circumstances in your particular legal code? Or for any kind of moral scale? For example, what if my child were dying, and I had no money to pay for medicine, so I stole some, thereby saving a life? Is that the same in your eyes as if I killed someone for the fun of it?"

"I suppose they might be different, but…"

"Then, see? The others are right!"

"Excuse me," said Cosette. She had been quiet all this time, listening eagerly to the arguments. But now, she got to her feet, and everyone fell silent to look at her.

"I agree," she said. "Everyone made some wonderful points, and while I may not have read as many pamphlets or attended as many demonstrations as some of you, I am fairly well-read, and that includes philosophy. Inspector, you hold a moralistic point of view that some thinkers call _black-and-white_. You see nothing but two polar opposites, good, and bad. If something is not one, then it must be the other. It's a neat puzzle of binary opposition, is it not?"

Eponine and the boys were by now nudging each other and looking with wide, delighted eyes. Cosette had thoroughly captured their attention.

"I suppose you're right," Javert allowed. Cosette nodded.

"Right. And the others, myself included, we have a more open view of things. Maybe something is good. Or maybe it's not, but it's not quite bad, either. That's how we see it. I know it must be confusing."

"Well, quite honestly, it is."

"I know. That's why Combeferre was trying to put our way of thinking into your terms. Maybe something is unjust in your mind, but to us, it falls into the _just_ category because of a different method of reasoning."

"Are you getting at subjective reality?" broke in Enjolras excitedly. "Combeferre showed me an essay in that recently. It was fascinating!"

"Please show me, too," said Cosette, and Combeferre smiled and nodded and looked utterly blissful.

"It would be my pleasure."

"This is all very intellectual," said Javert. His tone made it clear that he didn't approve. "I admit, you explain things well, but you still haven't shown me why I should believe you."

"I haven't," agreed Cosette calmly. "The problem is that we see things from such radically different points of view. On one hand, you, the moralist. On the other, us. Who's to say where we might find middle ground?"

Javert looked discomfited at being called a moralist, but he didn't interrupt. Cosette commanded that kind of attention.

"Go on, then," he said.

Cosette nodded sweetly. "Thank you. Now, it's a problem. But the solution has already been given. As Combeferre said so rightly earlier, we may find our answer in the soul."

"The soul?"

"Yes. We all have one. And we are thus all subject to the same ways of being. What is right, what is good– that is only universal so far as it applies here."

"But that's not–"

"Excuse me, Inspector. I was not finished." Cosette straightened, assurance radiating out of her and all throughout the room. The other children couldn't seem to take their eyes off her. "You say that actions like murder are inherently bad. Very well, I agree. It is wrong to deprive someone of a chance to live– in fact, it places a black spot on the soul to do this."

"Oh."

"Yes. If I were to murder someone, would I not be culpable, reprehensible, guilty of something truly heinous?"

"Yes."

"I agree. And if I were to destroy someone's life, would that not also be reprehensible?"

"Yes."

Cosette smiled. She clearly knew exactly where she was going with this. "And so, Inspector. They would be my victim, and to be pitied, not decried. If I were to force Enjolras to turn to the streets, for example– may I?"

Enjolras perked up and looked flattered to be chosen for this example, despite its grittiness. He nodded eagerly.

"–and one day, he was forced to loiter on the side of a busy street, just to ensure that he would not face violence, yes, his loitering would be a crime within the petty confines of city law. But would the real criminal not be me, the one who forced him to do it?"

Javert thought about it. Then, slowly, he nodded. "I agree."

"In that case, society is the real culprit. People like Eponine and my mother are the victims. And people like Enjolras, who are trying to help right these wrongs in any way they can, are they really to be blamed? They want to build a better world, one in which things like this do not have to happen."

Javert exhaled slowly. His eyes were wide. "I suppose…" he began. Then, he seemed to rally. "I object," he said. "I, too, am of low birth. I was born in prison. But I worked my way up from there. I refused to be made a victim. And now, look."

"And now, look," Cosette repeated acerbically. "Inspector, do you really believe that everyone could follow the same path as you? If they could, would we be plagued by the troubles that we see today?"

"If they would only work harder–"

"I am astounded by your lack of compassion, sir!" Cosette stepped up to Javert and jabbed him in the shoulder, glowing with righteous anger. "How dare you? How _dare_ you treat this matter so callously? How dare you discount all the lives which have been ruined by this cruel society, dismissing them as lazy or sinful? They are victims, plain and simple, and just because they have not experienced your peerless advantages, and yes, good fortune, does not mean that they are any less deserving of sympathy or respect. You, better than anyone, should know this, but you have thrown away your past, your empathy, your very goodness. Sir, you are heartless. I see now why none of our arguments worked on you. You _have_ no soul on which to hang a premise!"

Cosette broke off, furious. No one else made a sound. Then, very carefully, Javert let himself down onto the sofa.

"Child," he said. His voice was ragged. "Tell me. Do you really think that?"

Now shaken out of her fit of passion, Cosette sighed and shook her head. She came and sat down on the sofa beside Javert.

"I don't believe that," she said. "I'm sorry, sir. My temper got the best of me."

"I don't think she's entirely wrong," Enjolras muttered, but fortunately, Javert didn't seem to hear him. His head was bowed, hanging limp against his chest.

"I've always tried to do what is right," he said. Cosette tutted softly.

"I know. And that's admirable."

"But I don't know if it is. Your father has turned everything upside-down. And all of you, you young people, your arguments are hard to discount. Truly… I don't know which way is right anymore."

Valjean knew he shouldn't feel pleased at this. Poor Javert, he was going through a crisis, and of course, it was very distressing to him, who had never known a single doubt. But still, Valjean couldn't help but feel a little thrill. Maybe there was hope after all. If even Javert could accept grace and mercy in his life, then who knew what other miracles could happen?

"My friend," he said. "I know this is a difficult time for you. But why don't you rest? Things will be easier once you have slept."

"But I couldn't–"

"Please. My house is large enough for all of you, and then some." Valjean turned to the young people, who had been uncharacteristically silent during this exchange. He smiled. "My children, this offer goes for you, too. I will heat water for you, and you may refresh yourselves. And then Cosette and I can find you something to eat, I'm sure. Please allow me to make you comfortable."

"Even me?"

For a second, Valjean wasn't sure who had spoken. The voice wasn't one he had heard before. But then, he realized that it was Marius, standing before him with his head down, looking like a chastised puppy.

"Yes, my child," Valjean said, unsure as to why this would be a question.

Marius looked even more despondent. "Sir, I cannot comprehend your goodness. Why, just half an hour ago, I was ready to turn you out on the street. And now you are offering your home to me? I do not understand."

"Why would I not?" Valjean said. "Listen, we may not get along. And I am not a good man, and I still bear a few prejudices towards you. But you love Cosette, and she loves you, and I would do anything for her. So I forgive you for any ill intentions you might have had towards me, and I am willing to start anew."

"Oh, sir. I can never thank you enough. I am so sorry, sir. To think that I judged you so!" Marius looked as if he were about to reach for Valjean's hand, but stopped himself, and reached up to play with his shirt collar instead. "Sir, how can I ever express how sorry I am? And how fortunate I am that you are such a saint. You are a holy man, there can be no doubt!"

Valjean cut off his flow of words with a cough. He felt a warm glow in his chest at all the praise, it was true, but it was not his place to receive it, not when he was really nothing more than a sinner, not saintly or holy in any way.

"Thank you," he said. "But I am merely doing what anyone would do. It is nothing."

"But sir–!"

"Marius," cut in Cosette delicately. "Why don't we go start heating some water? We will need quite a lot."

"You needn't heat any for me," offered Enjolras. "I always use cold water. I don't want to indulge myself too much."

But Cosette just gave him a look. "Enjolras, you almost died. I think you can indulge yourself today."

Enjolras gave in (once Grantaire told him that he would bathe with him, much to Valjean's scandalized surprise), and Marius agreed to help Cosette, so soon the room began to empty, leaving Valjean with his thoughts.

Since he had been running from crisis to crisis four hours on end, he hadn't really had the chance to think about what he was doing. Now, though, in a moment of peace like this (which he feared would be fleeting, and all too rare in the coming days), he could finally take a breath and realize that in truth, he was rather staggered by the night's events.

He had joined a revolution. He had opened his home to a dozen children. And he had even reconciled with his lifelong enemy. It was an impressive amount of business for a few hours. He was nervous about how the next few days would go after this. Surely, his actions would have consequences, and what they would be, he had no idea.

Still, though, he couldn't help feeling a small warmth in his chest, curling, stretching, extending throughout his very being. This was a good night's work. He wasn't about to congratulate himself, because of course, he was just doing what anyone would do. But even so, he couldn't help but feel that inkling of pride.

Yes, it had been a good night's work.

—

Valjean somehow managed to find enough food in the house to feed everyone, though he was sure it had taken a miracle to allow him to do so. Loaves and fishes indeed– nothing short of divine intervention could have helped him find enough food to satisfy these young revolutionaries. Enjolras barely ate anything, and Joly and Jehan were fairly moderate as well, but the others swept through the pantry like a swarm of birds, swooping off with everything in their path. When Courfeyrac left the dining room and came back with an entire roast chicken in his hand, it was all Valjean could do to keep his peace.

For her part, Cosette was glowing. She seemed to have been born to preside over a crowded table. Her conversation flowed easily, her eyes sparkled, and many of the children could barely take their eyes off her. Valjean was so happy to see her like this that he didn't even complain when Bossuet tried to drink to her health and spilled a bottle of wine all over the tablecloth. He had never been one for dinner parties, but now he was beginning to see the merit. This was enjoyable, really.

By the time everyone had finished eating, it was afternoon. It was strange to think how time had gone so quickly; only a day ago, Valjean had been a single father, hounded by authorities, and preparing to leave for England in order to escape them. And now, he had adopted eleven children. It was incredible.

Since everyone had been awake for more than twenty-four hours, Valjean enjoined them all to go to bed and rest until the next morning. They could definitely all use it. Feuilly had fallen asleep on the couch right after dinner, and Joly had joined him soon after, and though the others all laughed at them, they were clearly drooping as well. Enjolras protested for awhile, claiming that he had to stay up and watch out for the authorities, until Valjean picked him up and physically tucked him into bed, studiously ignoring all his sounds of outrage. Grantaire followed, looking completely delighted.

"I'm going to make a painting," he declared, as Valjean fluffed up the pillows behind Enjolras's indignant blond head. "I will entitle it _Apollon, Angel, Borne at Last to His Bed of Heavenly Rest_ and the Academy will love it."

"That's a terrible name," said Enjolras snippily.

Valjean rather agreed with this, but he didn't feel it was necessary to make his opinions known. He was, after all, not an art critic. Instead, he nodded to Grantaire.

"You may sleep here as well, my son. Please make sure he gets some rest, will you?"

Grantaire saluted to him. "You can count on me, sir!"

Having given up his bed, Valjean now had nowhere to sleep, but he found he didn't really mind. He helped Cosette show the other children to bed (they were all much more tractable than Enjolras had been), before finally entreating her to go to sleep herself.

"You've been awake just as long as any of the others. Please sleep, my dear."

"I don't know," said Cosette. "Should I stay up to keep watch? Perhaps Enjolras was right. I believe that out of all of us, I would be best at convincing the authorities to take their leave."

Since when had his carefree little girl grown up to be such a capable strategist? Valjean felt a tug of pride in his heart, just as strong as the waves of love beating through him. Yes, Cosette was an amazing young woman in all possible ways.

"Sleep for now," he said. "I don't believe that we will be attacked now. Tomorrow, we will all have to take steps to ensure our safety, and we will all need to talk about it then. But for now, rest. You will need it; these next few days will try us all."

Cosette skipped up to embrace him. She was small and light, but there was strength in her, too, strength and courage and fortitude which nothing could take away. "I love you, Papa."

It was not often that Valjean allowed himself to indulge in emotions. He always made sure that Cosette felt loved, but beyond that, it had always been difficult to accept affection angled towards himself. Now, though, he allowed himself to enjoy this quiet moment, a few sweet seconds with the person he loved most in all the world.

Finally, Cosette pulled back. Her eyes were sparkling. "Papa, I do believe we're going to have a difficult time ahead of us."

Valjean wanted to apologize for this, because Cosette deserved peace and quiet, not political upheaval and hidden conspiracies against the authorities, but he found he couldn't, not when she looked so genuinely excited, and when he, too, was feeling the bubbling anticipation for all the new possibilities the future would present. It would be difficult indeed, but he had the suspicion that it would be enjoyable, too. As he had begun to learn, life could be an adventure when there was love in it. No matter what the future might hold, he was beginning to look forward to it all.

Truly, he thought, hope was a beautiful thing.


End file.
